


This is Torturous Electricity

by lordmxrphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Dark, F/M, Magic and Witchcraft, Romance, Urban Fantasy, whoops now it's a soulmate au too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:10:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>soulmates AU with bonus witchcraft</b> where magic is dark and gritty and earned with blood. mud gets caked beneath fingernails and spells are cast through sweat and sacrifice. Clarke’s power comes covered in death and dirt and Bellamy is the boy next door who catches Clarke trying to bring someone back from the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bellamy

**Author's Note:**

> check out the edit I made to go with the story [here!](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)

It’s a day like any other. The beginning of spring. The grass is muddy as the ground melts and the bare trees are starting to become sprinkled with green. A warm breeze blows through branches. Birds begin their song.

It’s a day like any other. But today, a boy died.

Bellamy is searching for Octavia (again) when he hears a girl’s frantic voice. His sneakers are speckled with dirt, but the soft earth cushions his footsteps, hiding his presence. He moves towards the sound. 

Down the slope by the river, he sees a girl. She’s a few years younger than him and he can tell she’s cut from a different cloth. She’s just a girl, no older than fifteen. Her dress is made from the kind of fabric his mother could never afford, but the girl’s dry sobs break him. Her dress is sopping wet and caked with mud. When he gets closer he sees that she’s draped over the body of a boy her age. Something’s clearly wrong. The boy’s dark skin looks ghostly. His eyes are open but he doesn’t blink.

Even in death, the boy looks like he’s on the verge of smiling. The expression at odds with the violent grief racking the girl on the ground beside him.

Bellamy stands frozen, incapable of moving. He can’t do anything but watch as the girl brushes her dripping hair back from her face, her expression hardening into something stronger than steel.

He watches her dig her fingers into the dirt. She drops her head back to face the sky as her lips start to move in silent words. Her whispers tangle with the breeze and he can’t make out her words from the wind. He watches as the girl’s face goes blank, her fingers digging deeper into the ground. She clenches her jaw, but her lips don’t stop their sentence. She continues. The dead boy’s eyes slide shut beside her, but the girl doesn’t notice.

Blood drips from her nose, it tracks down her face, across her chin, dripping onto her neck—her dress. She continues.

The wind picks up and the river rises. He can’t tell if this is sorcery or sacrifice.

The girl sways dangerously. Bellamy’s voice finally comes back to him and he calls out. Her eyes—electric blue—snap to his.

The world goes black.


	2. clarke

Clarke barely sees the boy. She looks up at the sound of his voice, but she doesn’t catch more that a wisp of black curls and deep brown eyes, too distracted by the pulse of power inside her as her vision goes white.

She falls forward, catching herself on Wells’ chest. Her fingernails, caked with mud, curl into the wet fabric sticking to his chest. Her blood spots on his cheek. She shuts out the world and lets the power flow through her. The blow of a breeze, the flap of a bird’s wing, the rushing of the river, she steals life from the world around her and pours it into Wells’ body, whispering words as much forbidden as they are salvation. 

Wells’ heart restarts beneath her fingertips. The beat begins as a faint whisper, picking up beneath her palm.

His chest stutters and his lungs begin to fill with air. 

Tears speckle her cheeks, watering the blood still dribbling down her chin.

_Alive. Alive. Alive._ His heart tells her fingertips. She can feel his energy again. A spark re-ignited. 

Her relief is so strong it almost hurts.

Wells wakes, his eyes open, and Clarke’s joy catches for a moment. 

The color of his irises is new yet disturbingly familiar. She’s familiar with the hue, she’s been seeing it reflected in the mirror her whole life. Wells’ eyes are blue. The same shade as her own. 

Wells groans, dragging Clarke’s attention away from his eyes—away from the wondering and the worry.

Clarke throws her arms around his neck as Wells is trying to sit up. They wind up back on the ground but Clarke doesn’t care. She’s laughing, tucking her smile into the warm skin of Wells’ shoulder. Happiness beats fervently in her chest. 

_Alive. Alive. Alive._

Wells chuckles at her reaction, “Clarke, you okay? What happened?”

She doesn’t let go, “I’ll tell you about it later.”  


* * *

  
She forgets all about the boy in her rush to get Wells home. 

She rinses her face with cold river water when Wells anxiously points out the blood. Once she's clean, she smiles, assuring him that she’s fine. He believes her. After all, she’s been getting nose bleeds her whole life. It’s a common side effect of the overexertion that comes with casting a strong spell. But, oddly, this time, she doesn’t feel the sting of exhaustion or a headache building behind her eyes like she usually does when she uses too much power. Instead, she feels light as air. Like she could take on the world.

(Clarke doesn’t tell Wells why she was using her magic and he doesn’t bother asking.)

She doesn’t let go of Wells all the way home, holding onto his hand, his arm. Delighting in the warmth of life on his skin. 

Both their clothes are still damp from the river when they make it back to the house. They’re covered in mud, but even the cold stickiness of her clothes can’t smear the smile on Clarke’s lips. 

She feels like laughing, dancing in the rain. Only her mother’s stern face at the door dampens her mood.

“You’re all wet. What happ—”

Clarke knows the exact moment her mother catches sight of Wells’ eyes. 

Abby’s mouth snaps shut into a hard line and the grin drops from Wells’ face. He looks over at Clarke, confused.

Clarke steps in front of Wells, shielding her brother from their mother’s sharp stare. It’s the same stance she took when they were seven and Wells accidentally broke the vase that used to belong to Abby’s mother. It had turned out to be some precious family heirloom and Clarke took the fall. 

Clarke will always stick her neck out when Wells is on the line. 

“Nothing happened,” she says, firm. “I saved him.” 

“ _Saved_ me? Clarke, what are you—” Wells words halt, she can almost hear the pieces click together in his mind. “The river…I got pulled under by the current… I blacked out. I—I thought I fainted but…” 

He trails off. Clarke can feel his eyes on her back.

Clarke doesn’t say anything, her glare still squared off against her mother's. 

“Clarke!” Desperation leaks through the cracks in Wells’ voice. 

She turns, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She misses the soft brown that used to be there. 

“You drowned in the river, Wells,” she whispers, he flinches, “By the time I pulled you out it was too late,” She stands straighter, her voice sure, “But it doesn’t matter because you’re alive now, okay? You’re alive,” she repeats, soft. 

When she reaches for Wells’ hand, her mother gasps. Clarke looks down.

There’s a map of stars swirling around the fingers of her left hand. Bright blue constellations on her knuckles.

With a jolt, she remembers the deep voice that preceded the white hot burst of power.

“The boy…” she murmurs, realization dawning.

She’d been so distracted by Wells that she’d almost forgotten. As she stares at the stars on her skin, Clarke feels her magic flutter—a faint echo of the burst that gave her the strength to save Wells. 

Her memory stretches and she recalls concerned eyes, black curls, freckles behind a tree right before the bright flash.

She can’t stop staring at her hand as she remembers the boy. 

The boy she can only see in flashes. The boy she knows nothing about.

The boy who she now knows is her soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YUP, NOW IT'S A SOULMATE AU. Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I've never written a soulmate au before and the temptation proved too strong. I really hope you guys like it! 
> 
> Please leave a comment with your thoughts! (And let me know if you like the structure of flipping POVs or if you'd rather I stuck with just Clarke's or Bellamy's. I'll take your thoughts into account as I move forward!)


	3. bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up alone.

He wakes up alone. A bright pain behind his eyes and his mouth full of cotton. 

Day has bled into dusky evening. The sky is dark and he knows he probably should have been home by now. 

His mind is full of the girl as he stumbles home. The events of the afternoon feel too surreal to be true, but somehow Bellamy knows it wasn’t a dream. He _knows_ he didn’t conjure the sight of the girl: clothes dripping, kneeling in the mud beside her friend, blood trickling down her chin, her eyes a vivid, electric blue. 

Bellamy pushes open the creaky back door to his house to find Octavia sitting on the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal resting on her muddy legs. She looks wild, leaves caught in her hair.

“Hey Bell,” she says, her mouth full of milk and cheerios. She swallows, “What happened to you?”

Bellamy leans against the wall. He's tired, but his headache is already fading. 

“Sorry I’m late, O. I lost track of time. Has mom made it home?”

Octavia shakes her head and shoves another spoonful into her mouth.

Bellamy sighs and starts moving about the kitchen, getting things ready to make food.

“Don’t have another bowl. You won’t have room for dinner.”

Octavia shoves more cereal into her mouth and grins, “I’m never too full for dinner,” she says, the words garbled.

Milk drips down her chin and Bellamy smiles. 

“Yeah, well, you’ll be too full to have seconds and I’m making mac ‘n cheese. The good kind, not easy mac.”

Octavia immediately sets aside her bowl and hops down from the counter to give Bellamy a quick hug, throwing her arms around his middle. 

At thirteen, Octavia’s at the age where her older brother embarrasses her and it’s lame to show affection; so, for Bellamy, small moments like this mean a lot.

“Hey, what’s this?” Octavia asks, poking Bellamy’s arm.

He looks at her, confused until he sees what she’s pointing to.

Circling his right elbow are a trail of electric blue stars. 

Bellamy doesn’t know what to say. He stares, open-mouthed. After a moment, realization dawns on Octavia. Her eyes grow wide.

“Wait, Bell, is this a soul mark? Did you meet your soulmate today?”

She sounds giddy and her excitement is contagious. His lips spread in a smile.

“I guess so.”  


* * *

  
After dinner, Octavia helps with the dishes before disappearing into her room, leaving Bellamy alone with his thoughts.

He traces the stars with his left hand. The markings almost look like they could be a tattoo, but they fit too flawlessly on his skin to be anything other than what they are: a soul mark. 

Soul marks are rare. Coveted. They stain the skin of anyone lucky enough to meet their soul’s pair. Only three people at Bellamy’s high school bore a soul mark. 

Bellamy remembers in elementary school kids used to wonder about finding their soulmate. At sleepovers, they would speculate about what their marks would look like and where they would appear. But by middle school, wonders turned to whispers as fewer and fewer kids wanted to talk about soulmates. 

No one talked about the reason behind the sudden silence, but everyone knew. The reality was that the majority of people never managed to find their soul mate or at least not find them young. Most kids would ask their parents about soul marks to learn that their parents' skin was bare. There were even rumors that in some families, only one parent was marked. It was true that certain people met their soulmate only to learn that the person who gave them the mark did not wear one in return. It was extremely uncommon, but it happened.

Bellamy’s hand skims the stars on his arm, marveling at how they’re the same brilliant blue as the girl’s eyes. As he traces the mark he feels a pulse of sorrow-the feeling foreign, yet somehow familiar. The feeling disappears when he pulls his hand away. The echo of sadness lingers like the ghost of a touch barely felt. Cautiously, he touches the mark again but feels nothing. 

He shakes his head, off-kilter, and decides to find the girl who pressed stars into his skin tomorrow. 

He just prays her markings match.  


* * *

  
He goes back to the river the next day. And the day after that and the day after that. He stops there before school and passes by after picking up Octavia in the afternoons. But he doesn’t see the girl again. (It’s like she evaporated.)

Still, he knows she was real despite the only evidence of her presence being the large patch of dead grass by the water and the cobalt constellation on Bellamy’s arm. 

He goes back every day for a month before he finally gives up. 

_Who needs their soulmate anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the comments on the last chapter, it sounds like you guys are liking the alternating POVs, so that's how I'm planning to structure the fic. The chapters will continue to be fairly short, but I have a feeling they'll get longer as we move forward;)
> 
> Please don't forget to leave kudos and a comment!! Getting feedback makes a _huge_ difference.


	4. clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She can’t explain the draw she feels towards Bellamy, but she lives for the moments when he catches her eye as she comes in and flashes her that magnetic smile that never fails to leave her breaths short and her heart unsteady._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Two updates in one day! I know, I can't believe it either. But I thought we all might need some bellarke interaction after the episode this week. 
> 
> As always, don't forget to leave kudos and comments! Hearing your thoughts is honestly my favorite thing:)

Her mother makes them pack their things that night. She ignores Clarke’s pleas as she shoves more clothes into the already full suitcase.

“Mom—Mom! Stop! This doesn’t make any sense. Why do we have to leave?”

Abby finally stops moving, her stiff, contained posture at odds with the chaos of the room. Clothes hang on every available surface and open cardboard boxes are scattered around the floor. It looks like a hurricane hit the room.

Her mother faces her, “Clarke,” she says, condescending, like she’s talking to a child, “You pulled Wells from death’s door; you knew there would be a cost. Don’t pretend like you didn’t see this coming. You performed blood magic. Forbidden magic. If the coven found out—”

“They aren’t going to find out,” Clarke’s voice sounds desperate even to her own ears.

“A boy saw you!” Abby snaps, “And even if he hadn’t, Wells has your eyes and there will be evidence by the river. Magic comes with a price. It leaves a stain. We need to be gone before the coven can figure out what happened. We’ll start over somewhere new.”

“But if you would just let me find—” Clarke starts to step forward but stops when her mother stiffens, her icy glare fixed on the soul mark on Clarke’s left hand.

Her voice is cold, “Clarke, you can never see that boy again. He’s already seen too much. He could ruin everything.”

“But—”

“My decision is final. Go pack your things,” her mother’s words are so sharp that Clarke thinks she must be bleeding. 

In the safety of her room, Clarke collapses on the bed. She presses her lips to the stars on her hand and mourns the loss of the boy—the soulmate—she’ll never know.  


* * *

  
They start over in a new town. 

Wells buys brown contacts to hide his blue eyes and Clarke starts wearing fingerless gloves everywhere she goes to hide the constellations on her knuckles. Having a soul mark isn’t inherently bad, but it would draw attention to her. And no one would ever understand why she left her soulmate behind.  


* * *

  
Years pass and Clarke grows older.

She meets boys, meets girls, but she never falls in love. She wonders if she’s broken —if she’ll never be able to fall for someone when she knows they’re not the match to her mark.

She hides her fear with greedy kisses and stolen moments, leaving a trail of bitter-sweet moments in her wake, never quite escaping the memory of a boy who scattered stars across her skin.  


* * *

  
She and Wells move into an apartment in the city a few months after Clarke turns twenty-one. It’s a shitty, broken down place, but they pay for it themselves with money saved and earned over the years. 

The apartment is a haven—a place completely free of her mother’s touch where she and Wells can breathe easy away from her reach.

Clarke gets a job at a quaint little bookshop. The owner, Anya, a witch she met through her coven, sells books on every subject under the sun. The shop also doubles as a resource for the occult. Both believers and skeptics find their way inside, eyes skimming the shelves of herbs and oils, latching onto tarot cards and books full of spells. 

Most people buy a trinket or two and leave unconvinced, giggling at the promise of magic. The skepticism works in the witches’ favor, protecting them. No one would believe that a real witch would open up shop in plain sight. When she hired Clarke, Anya warned her that occasionally someone frantic will come in searching for a miracle. Whether it’s heartbreak, loss, or desperation in general, there will always be someone desperate to do away with their woes.

Clarke loves her job, she loves spending her days surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. She loves the strength of stories. The whisper of words. Something about dusty shelves and crisp pages feels almost as mystical as magic itself.

Wells gets a job at a coffee shop a few blocks away. He starts taking extra shifts and working late nights for the extra cash. Clarke didn’t go to college, she chose to focus on mastering magic, but Wells’ majored in history and now has to pay off his student loans. Their parents could have afforded to help Wells with his tuition, but when he chose to study history instead of medicine, their parents dropped the financial support. 

Most nights after work, Clarke stops by the coffee shop, a book or two tucked under her arm. Wells supplies her with an endless stream of coffee and Clarke waits for him, losing herself between words and worlds.

She will admit that waiting for Wells isn’t the only reason she enjoys hanging out at the coffee shop. Wells smirks every time he catches Clarke gazing at the pair of broad shoulders or messy black curls behind the counter. 

She can’t explain the draw she feels towards Bellamy, but she lives for the moments when he catches her eye as she comes in and flashes her that magnetic smile that never fails to leave her breaths short and her heart unsteady.

“What’ll it be today, Princess?” he asks, eyes bright.

She startled by a sudden pang of longing. 

_She wants to know him, really know him._

But Bellamy’s hard to crack. Even Wells hasn’t managed to learn much about Bellamy other than the fact that he and his sister moved to the city a couple years back.

“Hot chocolate, please.”

“Large hot chocolate. Got it,” Bellamy says, getting started on her drink. 

The coffee shop is mostly empty; the only other patron sits by the back wall. Wells is in the back sorting stock. Clarke watches Bellamy move around effortlessly while she waits, her eyes lingering on the swell of his biceps beneath his long-sleeved shirt.

Bellamy catches her looking when he turns back around, steam rising from the large mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He smirks and her eyes flick to his. Something in his deep brown eyes tugs at her heart. She’s feeling brave tonight.

She tilts her head towards one of the empty tables, “You want to join me?”

Bellamy’s smile falters briefly, but a moment later he’s cocking an eyebrow, all flirty confidence.

“Sure, I’m due for my break,” wipes his hands on a towel, “Jaha, I’m taking ten!” He calls towards the back.

Bellamy pours himself a coffee and he and Clarke settle beside each other in a booth. Their elbows knock, and Clarke can feel the spread of his heat beside her. He smells like coffee grains and impossible wishes.

“What are you reading?” Bellamy asks, turning around the book on the table. “Bronte, huh?”

His fingers glide over the cover, tracing the title. 

“What do you like to read?” Clarke asks, pulling at a loose thread on her glove.

“Anything I can get my hands on, really. But I’m a fan of the classics and mythology.”

Clarke is watching him when he looks up. His brow puckers.

“What?” he asks, a laugh tucked into the corner of his lips.

“Nothing, I just…” She decides to go for it, “Do you want to go out sometime?”

A flash of teeth and a crooked grin, “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts? wonders? wishes? concerns? (Are you as big a fan of soulmate AUs as I am? Let me know!)
> 
> Oh, and if you want to you can check out[the edit I made for this fic:)](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/post/138487717097/bellarke-witchcraft-au-where-magic-is-dark-and)


	5. bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He tries to keep his distance, he does, but it’s no use._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this counts as fluff or angst, but either way, I hope you guys enjoy:) Don't forget to leave a comment before you go!

When Wells first introduces him to Clarke, Bellamy’s heart stutters and it throws him for a loop. He doesn’t know what to make of the almost magnetic pull he feels towards her. She’s beautiful, sure, but Bellamy’s met plenty of beautiful girls and not one of them made him lose his balance like Clarke does. 

She’s golden—a bright summer day at night. Blonde sunlight on her shoulders, a blue sky in her eyes. But then she smiles and it’s like looking at the moon. Soft light edged by shadows. 

He barely knows her, but she makes him wish fate hadn’t stolen his hope when he was seventeen.

He tries to keep his distance, he does, but he finds himself watching the door waiting for her to come in, grinning when she does because he doesn’t know how not to. Her answering smiles feel like drops of stolen starlight. 

Clarke moves like she speaks, with easy, graceful confidence, like she belongs in any space she chooses to inhabit, and Bellamy can’t help noticing her. Her nail polish is always chipped and she prefers coffee to tea. She wears the same pair of worn chuck taylors every day, with words written in black ink on the soles. She always has a book with her, but it’s a different one every day. 

(She’s a girl hungry for stories and he’s a boy hungry to hear hers.)

She blindsides him. He wants her in a way he hasn’t ever wanted someone before. He wants to hear the thoughts in her head and read the words traced on her shoes. But it’s not her bright smiles and bright eyes that fascinate him. It’s the way she loses herself in a book, forehead creasing in concentration. It’s her sense of humor, dry and dark. It’s that she’s kind and smart and that he wouldn’t be surprised if she took down a person twice her size between blinks. 

There’s just something about _her_ that feels impossible to resist—like she’s gravity and he’s falling.

He tries to keep his distance, he does, but it’s no use.  


* * *

  
She shows up for their date with a handful of wildflowers, a Greek mythology book, and a crooked smile. (He doesn’t stand a chance.)

It’s a perfect day—clear skies, warm sun, cold air kissing Clarke’s cheeks and leaving pink stains—and for an afternoon, he forgets.

He realizes his mistake when he’s walking her back to her apartment. 

_He can’t have this._

He can’t have this. Love. A relationship. He doesn’t get to have that because he wears his soul on his sleeve and whatever attraction or infatuation he might be tumbling into with Clarke, he’ll never be able to give her his whole heart and it’s not fair to let her think otherwise.

(He still remembers the girl by the river 6 years ago, but she’s more of a ghost now than a memory. Seeing her was a blink in a hurricane, only she’s wasn’t a raindrop, she was the whole damn storm. And she left him shipwrecked out at sea without a lifeboat.)

Bellamy slows his steps as he walks Clarke home, trying to stretch his time with her. 

It’s the beginning of spring, but the breeze blows cold, winter still refusing to ease its grip. 

Clarke’s gloved hand brushes his and without thinking, he reaches down to tangle their fingers. Her hand is small in his and the wool of her gloves brushes softly against his palm as her fingers curl around his. 

For a moment, he imagines, stupidly, that when her bare fingers meet his skin, the world around him becomes brighter and more vivid.

Too soon, they’re outside her place. 

She’s still holding his hand when they stop in front of the door to her apartment. She tugs his arm when she turns to face him. Her eyes are oceans of blue, her smile refracted light on the waves.

They reach for each other in the same moment, his mouth meeting hers in the middle. They kiss deeply—freely—like it’s not the first time. Like they’ve spent their whole lives knowing how to kiss one another. 

Her hair smells like lavender and her lips taste electric. His blood hums with raw energy.

He ignores his heavy heart and lets himself have this. Lets himself push a hand through her hair, press her against the wall, and just _kiss_ her. 

Clarke sighs against his lips and slides her tongue into his mouth. Kissing her feels as easy as picking up a conversation with an old friend. Familiar and fond and _right_.

Eventually, he pulls away. She doesn’t let him go far, hooking her fingers through his belt loops.

She looks as dazed as he feels. 

He ruins it by talking.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says without thinking, his voice still coarse from kissing her.

Her face immediately shifts into a frown. She lets go of him.

“What?”

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, “Fuck, that’s not—” he meets her eyes, “Clarke, you should know, I can’t—I’m not looking for anything serious.”

The words taste like a lie.

Her face softens. She swallows, but doesn’t seem upset. 

“I’m okay with that,” she whispers. She reaches for a belt loop and tugs him back into her. His forehead finds its place against hers. 

“Why does it feel like I’ve known you forever,” the thought falls from his lips without permission. But he doesn’t have time to worry about his words, too caught up in Clarke when she tilts her head and tangles their mouths together in another deep kiss. 

When they break for breath, she asks him to come inside. He says yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments really help me get a sense of what you guys are liking about the story, so please let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you.


	6. clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to leave. I’m sorry, this is all…”
> 
> _impossible._
> 
> “…a little fast,” she finishes, feeling dirty. Her gloves itch.

She kisses him with reckless abandon. His tongue slides against hers and his hand slides against her skin. She swallows his moans, he swallows her sighs, and they all but swallow each other. 

They kiss desperately—like they won’t get another chance. Like neither of them wants to waste a second of this giving, taking, licking, longing. 

Bellamy’s shirt gets tossed onto the floor behind him and suddenly he’s everywhere. He’s the air in her lungs and pressed against every line of her body. He’s warm skin and hitched breaths. He’s a taste she wants forever on her tongue. She chases his lips desperate for more more more. 

Her hands slide greedily across his shoulders and down his arms. Her fingers trailing against bare skin.

A white light flickers across her vision. She gasps against Bellamy’s mouth as raw power floods her body. 

Clarke staggers back, pulling away, sparks threatening to spill from her fingertips. Her magic feels like it’s trying to bust its way out of her body.

She has a moment of bewildered panic—of confusion. Then the world slows as she catches sight of the string of bright blue stars circling Bellamy’s right elbow, the place her left hand had just been. 

Lightning strikes in her living room.

She stares at the soul mark. It’s a perfect pair to hers. 

She pulls her gaze from the constellation mapped amongst his freckles when Bellamy clears his throat. 

He’s watching her like he just watched his hope sink. He looks lost—tired but unsurprised.

“I should have told you,” he says, disappointment leaks through his words, “Do you want me to leave?”

Her response sails from her mouth, “No!” 

“No,” she says again, this time, more quietly, “You don’t have to leave. I’m sorry, this is all…”

_impossible._

“…a little fast,” she finishes, feeling dirty. Her gloves itch. 

She can’t tell him. 

It’s Bellamy, but it’s also the boy by the river. The boy who saw too much. The boy who might know who she is— _what_ she is. 

She can’t tell him, but knowing the truth—that Bellamy’s her _soulmate_ —feels like rubbing sleep from her eyes and finally waking up.

Her lips part in a smile and joy warms in her chest, active rebellion against plaguing worry. 

Bellamy swallows, his shoulders lose some of their tightness, “You don’t mind?”

This much she can tell him. This much is true. She shakes her head, relishing the fleeting moment of honesty.

Bellamy takes a tentative step towards her and she sways, pulled into his orbit. 

Her fingers twitch and she has to stop herself from reaching forward, from tracing the tips of her fingers across the stars on his skin—familiar and new all at once. 

Clarke pulls her gaze from galaxies. Bellamy’s soft brown eyes are hesitantly hopeful. 

She feels warm all over, magic and excitement bloom inside her—a garden made of stardust. 

“When did you get it?” she asks to make sure.

“Six years ago. I was seventeen,” he clears his throat and stares at the wall, the muscle in his jaw jumps, “I never saw her again.”

She wishes she knew what he was feeling, wishes she had some way to know how much he remembered from that day. 

“I should go,” his words pierce her, but she nods, understanding.

Bellamy doesn’t look at her. He just pulls his shirt back on and heads for the door. 

He grabs his coat, turns the knob, and stops. His knuckles are white and Clarke sees Bellamy’s throat work as he swallows. He seems to battle with himself for a moment, but he turns to face her, finding her eyes.

“I know this is a lot, but I’d really like to see you again, Clarke.”

She softens at the sound of his lips tasting her name.

“I’d love that.” 

The tension in his body drains when she finds her way to his side. She grasps his chin with her right hand and rises up onto her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

She lingers a moment before letting go and taking a step back. 

His smile leaves her with breathless wonder. She barely keeps herself from reaching for him again. 

(She wants to search his skin for stars and taste his galaxies on her lips.)

But she keeps her mouth shut and her hands to herself, heart aching as she watches him leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave comments and kudos so I know what you thought! 
> 
> Feedback makes a big difference when it comes to motivation :)


	7. bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Something about Clarke makes his defenses disintegrate. She rips through his walls like they’re made of paper._

A week passes and Clarke doesn’t come by the shop. 

Bellamy knows she’s just processing everything—that she just needs time. But. He misses her. He _hates_ that he misses her. He hates that he misses this girl he barely knows but desperately wants to discover. 

On Friday, he finally breaks and asks Wells how to get to shop where Clarke works. He expects some resistance, but Wells just smiles and scribbles the address down on a post-it note. He even tells Bellamy the quickest route to get there. 

He can’t believe how easy it is. Wells laughs when he says so.

“Clarke’s used to having all the answers. She’s scared and she’s being stubborn. The way I see it, if she won’t come to you, you should go to her.”

The directions lead Bellamy to a bizarre little shop he could never have predicted.

Vines climb up the clear window front, twisting every which way. Books and bones are scattered in the display, balancing precariously like they’re about to tip over. 

He recognizes one or two of the book titles, but most are beyond his grasp—they speak of cauldrons and casting. He can’t identify half the trinkets on display—most look like they’d fit more in folklore or a fairy tale than in the middle of the city.

The sign on the door advertises palm readings, herbal remedies, and books on every subject, including the occult. Bellamy didn’t even know shops like this existed, he didn’t know there were still people desperate enough to put their faith in the false promise of magic. 

A bell on the door rings when Bellamy pushes inside. The shop is deeper and taller than he expected, bookshelves scattered with dusty tomes, dried herbs, and bottles every shape, color, and size stretch all the way from floor to ceiling and disappear far into the back. 

The shop smells like moss and incense. There are bits of green everywhere—in pots, on shelves, climbing up the walls. The shop is half forest half library.

The place looks empty aside from a grey cat with unnerving purple eyes that scrutinizes Bellamy from its perch on a stack of encyclopedia’s. 

He’s about to leave the way he came in when he hears a fumble and a curse. A moment later, a voice—distinctly Clarke’s—calls out.

“I’ll be with you in a moment!”

There’s another low curse and a few seconds later Clarke appears from behind one of the shelves. 

A smile spreads across Bellamy’s face as easy as breathing.

Her hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, blonde curls springing free and spilling around her face—sunlight indoors. There’s an ink splotch smeared on her cheek and she’s wearing a ratty Rolling Stones shirt that keeps slipping off her shoulder. 

(She’s beautiful—a messy masterpiece.)

Clarke’s eyes go wide when she sees him and she immediately clasps her hands behind her back.

“Bellamy? What are you doing here?”

His smile slips.

“I came to see you. Is that okay?” 

She softens, “Of course it’s okay,” she swallows, “How did you find this place?”

“Wells gave me directions.”

Clarke mutters something under her breath too low for Bellamy to hear, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered. 

“I would have called, but you never gave me your number,” he says, his smirk turning into a grin when Clarke lets out a surprised laugh. 

Her gaze fixes his right shoulder, “I missed you,” she admits.

Bellamy steps forward, powerless against her pull—it’s as if she’s gravity and he can’t help but fall.

“I missed you too. I want to get to know you, Clarke…” 

The words sound even more true on his lips than they did in his head. _He wants to know her._ He wants to learn her smiles. He wants to spend hours memorizing the cadence of her laugh and the spark in her eyes. 

“…And if you’re not comfortable dating someone with a soul mark, I’d like to still, at least, be friends.”

She watches him for long enough that Bellamy’s courage starts to lose its footing. Her eyes are clear and blue, but he can’t read the thoughts beneath the waves.

She moves closer and stops when she’s a breath away. She hasn’t even touched him yet, but his skin sings. He can’t take his eyes off her lips, gaze stuck on the freckle kissing the top of her lip. 

His blinks slow when she slides her right hand into his hair. Her fingers are soft and sure and when she starts to lean in he falls forward into her mouth. 

This kiss is nothing like the last one. That kiss was like chasing fire. It was tongues and teeth, hot breath and voltage.

This kiss is slow. All lips. It’s soft. Searching. Her mouth promises impossibilities.

Her kiss leaves him heart pounding, weak in the knees. 

Clarke pulls back to look at him, her breath warm against his mouth. He keeps his hand on her cheek and brushes her bottom lip gently with his thumb. 

He’s been careful for so long. For years, he’s kept his heart in hidden in his back pocket so he wouldn’t get hurt, but something about Clarke makes his defenses disintegrate. She rips through his walls like they’re made of paper.

“Still want to just be friends?” she asks, smile a little lopsided. 

Bellamy grins back, dazzled and doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave kudos and a comment! I have the next chapter written, so if you guys are excited about this one I'll probably get around to editing it and post it soon. Comments are the ultimate motivator:)


	8. clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They learn each other in pieces. On the backs of whispers and breathless admissions. They reveal themselves mouth to mouth. They give pieces of themselves away with chins tucked into blonde curls and soft lips against freckled collarbones._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both this chapter and the next will be in Clarke's POV, hope you guys don't mind! Initially, I was going to post them as one chapter, but it got long... Chapter 10 will be Bellamy's perspective and Chapter 9 will be up later tonight ;)
> 
> Please make sure to comment and let me know what you thought! This chapter explores more background and gives some insight into this world so I'm really curious to hear your thoughts.

Days spill into weeks. Bellamy starts coming by the shop during his lunch break or when he doesn’t have a shift. She wonders if he feels the shop’s pull—the intoxicating, unnameable draw of _magic_. 

When Bellamy visits, he likes to explore the creaky shelves, he runs his fingers along the spines of books and pulls them out to page through. He’ll read while Clarke sorts through charms and tokens or helps a customer. She catches Bellamy rolling his eyes when a teenager comes in to beg her for a love potion, but he watches curiously when Clarke prepares an herbal tincture to help an old woman with her pain. Every once in a while, she’ll look over and find his gaze settled on her instead of the open book in his lap. 

Clarke learns the move of Bellamy’s mouth as well as her own. The press of his lips, the way his hands feel on her hips, in her hair. They tangle in dozens of dusty alcoves and sync their hearts in a hundred different beats.

They learn each other in pieces. On the backs of whispers and breathless admissions. They reveal themselves mouth to mouth. They give pieces of themselves away with chins tucked into blonde curls and soft lips against freckled collarbones. 

Clarke learns that Bellamy has taken care of Octavia most of his life. He shares the pain of watching his mother fight sickness and finally succumb. He murmurs about what it was like starting over—the fear and freedom of being completely dependent upon himself. 

Clarke tells Bellamy about meeting Wells when she was six. Knobby knees and scabby elbows. Making a friend and earning a brother. She tells him about her strained relationship with her mother. She tells him about missed phone calls and ignored messages—how, now, they only keep in touch via Wells and his endless patience.

Clarke tells Bellamy a lot, she shows him the parts of herself she never thought she’d share, but she still keeps her gloves on and her biggest secret hidden behind her back. 

She tells Bellamy a lot, but she doesn’t tell him everything. 

She tells him her father left when she was four. But she doesn’t tell him why. 

She doesn't tell Bellamy her dad left because he found out that Clarke and her mother were witches and was too afraid to stick around.

She doesn’t tell Bellamy what Abby told her when she was seven and still wondering why her dad wasn’t around. She doesn’t tell him her mother’s story about the horrified look on her father’s face when he found rose brambles surrounding her bed one morning, having grown overnight. 

She doesn’t tell him that when she was ten and just starting to learn to control her magic, her mother warned her never to show anyone outside the family or the coven her magic by reminding Clarke of the fear in her father’s eyes when she began to talk to trees and insist they listened. 

She doesn’t tell Bellamy that her father left her because he was terrified of what she was capable of. She doesn’t tell him that her father learned she and her mother were witches and was gone the next day.

No, she doesn’t tell him all that, but she tells Bellamy about the sour taste his rejection still leaves in her mouth and the way she still clings to remnants of outdated memories. 

She tells Bellamy about the father she remembers: gentle hands picking her up after a fall, the blue eyes she inherited, chocolate coins hidden behind her ear. 

Her memories of the man who left don’t match the story, but they’re all she’s got and she can’t bring herself to let go.

She tells Bellamy about her father and when she does, she hands him a piece of her heart. He takes it tenderly; he doesn’t laugh at the weight of an abandonment long past its expiration date. He doesn’t leave her empty, he doesn’t make her feel abandoned. He makes her feel full. He brushes away her sorrow with soft words and uncompromising affection. He tells her it’s natural to miss someone you loved, even when they left you. 

He tells her he still misses his own mother. He tells her that even though he hates her sometimes—for leaving—for being gone even before she got sick—he still misses the rare days his mom filled their house with warmth, baking brownies and giving away smiles for free. He still misses those rare moments she would act like a mother and it wasn’t just him and Octavia fending for themselves.

(She already knew Bellamy was her soulmate, but that day she learns _why_.)

 

…

 

It’s risky, but Clarke starts showing Bellamy magic. 

She starts out small—one tree in a forest. She shows him tarot cards, reads his tea leaves, she explains the medicinal properties of sage and how some people use lavender oil as a way to stave off bad luck. 

She even starts sharing bits and pieces of witch folklore and mythology. Dropping comments casually enough that he won’t notice what she’s doing. Like how across the world there are accounts of people, mostly women, performing miracles, performing acts that couldn’t be explained by any science. 

She teaches him informally—casually—when he stops by the store. (Which is happening more and more often.)

She enjoys teaching him, even if he doesn’t know that’s what she’s doing—even if he laughs when she reads his palm and shows him where his heart line and his fate line meet. She likes sharing what she can with him because it’s almost like revealing another side of herself.

One day, Anya catches her. 

She shows up to check on the shop and finds Clarke and Bellamy pressed against each other with a spell book between them. Clarke knows Bellamy doesn’t believe any of the spells work, but he’s fascinated by the descriptions and marvels at the history caught between crinkled, yellowing pages.

Clarke doesn’t notice Anya until she clears her throat. Clarke’s head snaps up and she closes the book with a thud. Bellamy seems to sense the tension and offers a quick goodbye, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s cheek before disappearing out the front of the store.

Clarke gives first, collapsing beneath the weight of Anya’s stare. 

“He doesn’t believe it’s real; he doesn’t know anything,” she says in a rush of breath.

“But you want him to,” Anya states, her expression inscrutable.

Clarke swallows but doesn’t respond. She glances at Hecate, the grey cat that belongs to the shop as much as the shop belongs to it., and wonders if the cat warned Anya about Bellamy.

“You care about him, that much is clear,” Anya continues, she waits for Clarke to meet her eyes, “But do you trust him?”

Clarke is surprised to find sincerity where she expected censure.

She nods, “I do.” 

“Make sure that’s true. Powerful witches have fallen because they placed their trust on undeserving shoulders. Just last year, a girl revealed herself to the woman she loved and the coven had to work day and night to contain the spread of our secret. The witch paid dearly for her mistake. And the girl she told was little more than an empty shell when the coven released her. It might seem like the world no longer wants to believe in bedtime stories, but the promise of magic can make mortals greedy.” Anya glances at Clarke’s gloves, “Even a soulmate bond isn’t always enough,” she finishes, heedless of the fact that Clarke never told her about her soul mark.

It’s the most Anya has ever said to her at once and Clarke can tell it’s an earnest warning. All her life she’s been warned to keep her magic under lock and key, but hearing first hand about what might happen if she revealed her secret is a terrifying but needed reminder.

Clarke takes Anya’s words seriously and starts treading more carefully around Bellamy. She walks a tightrope of wish and worry. She wants to trust him, but she doesn’t know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of pieces are being uncovered in this chapter... Did you like learning more about Clarke? What did you think of Anya's warning? 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter in the comments below!


	9. clarke

She meets Octavia on a rainy Thursday three weeks after seeing Bellamy’s soul mark. 

Clarke hasn’t seen his stars since, but she can sense them, and every time she kisses Bellamy she has to stop her hand from finding his elbow. She’s careful to keep own mark hidden beneath her gloves. 

Bellamy had asked her why she wore them one day at the shop when they were sprawled in a secluded aisle surrounded by stories and making their own. 

She’d watched him tug at a loose thread by her thumb, but she’d pulled away when he reached for her left hand. 

She hadn’t been ready to show him, not yet.

The flash of hurt and confusion across his face had made her stomach lurch. 

“I’ll tell you one day,” she’d promised with the firm press of her lips to his jaw. When she’s pulled away, the crease between his eyebrows had eased. 

“Take as much time as you need.” 

She’d seen in Bellamy’s eyes that he meant it—he wanted to know when _she_ was ready—and she’d had to look down at the book in front of her so he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in her eyes.

The day she meets Octavia, Clarke stumbles into the coffee shop wet and shivering. 

She wishes she could have used a spell to keep herself dry, but walking into a public place perfectly dry during a rainstorm would have been conspicuous. However, that doesn’t stop her from muttering an incantation to help her warm up. 

Her hair drips onto the floor as she shrugs out of her wet coat. It’s only when she hangs it on one of the hooks by the door that she finally notices the girl sitting on the counter behind the bar. 

Clarke’s never seen her before, but there’s something about the tilt of her chin that seems familiar. She’s pretty, probably nearing twenty, and there’s a spark of danger in her eyes that Clarke knows would have drawn her in if a curly-haired boy hadn’t snatched her heart.

The girl jumps down from the counter and moves behind the register when Clarke steps up to the bar. She’s not wearing a nametag, but Clarke assumes that’s probably because she just started working there. Clarke comes by every day, if she doesn’t recognize someone, they must be new.

The girl takes in Clarke’s dripping hair and wet clothes with a sympathetic look, “Wow, it must be really coming down out there.”

Clarke smiles wryly, “No kidding,” she replies, annoyed at both the weather and herself. (Wells reminded her to bring an umbrella this morning and she _still_ forgot.)

The girl grins in response to Clarke’s sarcasm and her smile makes it click— _Octavia_.

Clarke knows she’s right when Bellamy comes out of the back room and rolls his eyes when he sees his sister behind the register, his expression equal parts fond and annoyed. The frown disappears when he catches sight of Clarke and breaks into a grin. 

Her heart trips. She loves the way he smiles when he sees her—like it’s instinct, like just the sight of her makes joy spill across his face.

“Hey you,” he says, tapering his grin.

She smiles, “Hey yourself.”

Octavia glances between them and snorts.

“Oh, you must be Clarke,” she smirks.

Clarke nods, grin widening at the way Bellamy’s ears turn pink. The sight sends flutters across her skin.

Octavia glances at her brother again and the teasing glint in her eyes softens.

Bellamy clears his throat, “Clarke, this is my sister Octavia. Octavia, this is Clarke.”

A line is starting to form behind her, so Clarke doesn’t get a chance to say much else, but she sends Octavia a warm smile before giving Bellamy her order.

She pulls out her phone while she waits for her drink. She doesn’t mean to overhear Octavia and Bellamy’s conversation, but Octavia’s voice carries and she catches the end of her sentence.

“—just because she’s not your soulmate doesn’t mean you can’t be happy, Bell.”

Clarke doesn’t hear Bellamy’s response; it gets swallowed by the clatter of customers.

Her skin blows hot and cold, tension coils in her stomach. 

Anya’s warning is still fresh on her mind, but she can’t let fear’s clammy hands hold her back. It’s not fair to Bellamy. He deserves to know the truth.

Trust is stepping out on a ledge not knowing whether the ground will hold—it’s taking the risk that you might fall and stepping forward anyway.

She told Anya she trusted Bellamy. It’s time she proved it.

 

…

 

Clarke talks to Octavia briefly later before the girl runs off to meet up with her friends. Clarke already knew from Bellamy that Octavia was a freshman at the local community college and when she asks, Octavia tells her she has no idea what she wants to major in brazenly and with a smile. Clarke likes her immediately.

Hours later when Bellamy flips the sign on the door to closed, it’s just the two of them. Clarke helps him wipe the tables and clear everything away despite his protests. 

It’s late, the time of night when anything feels possible. The store is dark. The only light spills in from the street outside, the golden glow of a lamp on the sidewalk. 

It’s the witching hour and Clarke feels magic stir beneath her skin, eager to play beneath the stars. She keeps it hushed and quiet. _Not yet._

She’s sitting on the counter, knocking her heels against the wood while she waits for Bellamy to finish up. 

He comes out in a fresh t-shirt and the shadows turn him into a study of contrasts. The plains of his face are illuminated, but his freckles have disappeared. The way the light hits his teeth makes them look sharp, turning his smile feral. 

(Night and shadows have transformed a boy into a wolf.)

She stifles her fear. _She trusts him._

He moves forward to tuck a curl behind her ear and the shadows shift and once again he’s the Bellamy she knows. Kind. Clever. Sensitive and sweet behind thick walls. 

He presses a soft kiss to her lips and Clarke lets herself be pulled under the waves. She drowns in his current, out of breath and renouncing her cares. He’s an ocean she wants to lose herself in.

She never expected to find him—the boy by the river with stars to match her own. She never dared hope. He’s a dream made into blood and bones. A living, breathing wish come true.

She pulls back and smiles when his lips try to follow. She presses one last kiss to his jaw above a cluster of freckles. 

Her heart slams in her chest. 

All she hopes is that she’s making the right choice trusting him and that he forgives her for taking so long. 

Bellamy’s eyes watch her, full of questions.

“Clarke, is everything okay?”

She doesn’t respond, she just slides off her gloves and lets sight speak for itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave a comment letting me know your thoughts! 
> 
> (How do you think Bellamy will react? Do you think he'll be angry? Relieved? Let me know what your predictions are for the next chapter!)


	10. bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He thought he chose this. He thought he chose her. But now he doesn’t know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, but it's what we've been building towards, so I hope you don't mind. Please let me know in the comments if you like it!

_Clarke’s his soulmate._

It doesn’t seem possible. Bellamy can’t quite believe it, even as he stares at the evidence of his soul on her skin. 

There are stars across Clarke’s knuckles—bright, blue, bewitching stars. Stars she’s kept hidden beneath gloves and tucked away where he couldn’t see. Stars that have been within his reach almost a hundred times, if only he had known they were there.

_Stars that align with his own._

He feels like he’s suffocating, she’s too close. Her breath on his neck is too hot. 

Memories of a broken past and abandoned faith gather like ghosts around him. 

He takes a step back. 

“You—you knew! You knew this whole time and you never said anything.”

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what to make of the girl in front of him. He doesn’t know what to make of the pull that still begs him to fall in and drown in her waves. 

He thought he chose this. He thought he chose her. Now, he’s not sure. 

(He’s told her so much, he’s let her see him cracked and broken. He got drunk on her presence and lost himself in her promise. And, all this time, _she knew._ )

Doubt crawls in through an unattended window, it opens the door and fear steps inside, hand-in-hand with anger.

He shutters, he hardens. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—” she struggles for words, “When I found out I barely knew you. I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

“Ironic,” he spits, “since you’re the one who’s been lying this whole time.”

Her eyes flash, full of fire, “That’s not true and you know it.” 

(He’s not sure what he knows anymore.)

“I never lied to you, Bellamy.” Her eyes are steady and her voice doesn’t waver. He wants to believe her. God, he wants to. 

“I trusted you. I told you things I—” he stops himself before he gives away any more of his heart. His voice is cold, “I trusted you and this whole time…”

“ _I never lied to you_ ,” she says again. The words ring true. 

Her eyes flick away, “I was just afraid…”

He falters and shakes his head, not understanding. He feels like there are words she’s not saying.

“Afraid? Why—”

She interrupts his question with one of her own. 

“Do you remember the day we met?”

He frowns at the abrupt change, but nods. The memory of that day is murky and grey, but he remembers. Of course, he remembers. 

“What do you remember?” she presses.

His frown deepens, “I was looking for Octavia when I heard you crying,” he struggles to recall what happened. Time has stolen the particulars. “The last thing I remember is meeting your eyes before I blacked out.”

“That’s all you remember?” 

He hears a note of disappointment in her voice but he doesn’t know what it means.

There a few other details, but they’re shaky. Over the years, dreams have twined with reality. He’s no longer sure what’s true and what’s fable. In his memory, her hair had been a darker shade of blonde and her eyes hadn’t been the color of the sky, they’d been an almost neon blue.

Still, he stretches his mind, searching, but he’s spent so long keeping that day locked away that what’s left of the memory is like an old photograph, faded and water-logged. 

“I—” he sighs, “It was so long ago…” 

He looks down and, without meaning to, his eyes find her stars and a question that’s haunted him for years trips out of his mouth.

“Why didn’t you ever come back? I looked for you, I waited. I thought—I figured you didn’t get the mark.”

Clarke closes her eyes as if in pain.

“I’m so sorry. My mother…she didn’t give me a choice. I wish—” she swallows, “I wish a lot of things could have turned out differently.”

Bellamy can tell she’s not telling him everything and part of him wants to demand she stop keeping secrets, but the other part of him knows it’s not fair to expect her to give him everything at once. He wants to earn her secrets not expect them.

“You said that when we met you weren’t sure you could trust me,” he scrapes, voice full of gravel, “Do you trust me now?”

“I do. I trust you, Bellamy.”

Three weeks, countless kisses, and innumerable smiles.

He decides to trust her too.

He steps into the space between her knees. His hips bump against the counter. He leans in and kisses her, deep and slow, drawing out the moment and getting lost in her breath. 

He’s choosing this. He’s choosing her.

She grasps his forearm, her palm soft and warm against his skin. His fingers thread through her hair and he loses himself in her, freefalling into her depths. 

Her left hand slides down his forearm and meets his elbow. Her hand, speckled with stars, curls around the ones ringing his elbow. 

**Thunderclap and lightning.**

Bellamy’s eyes fly open as they both gasp.

Clarke’s eyes are electric blue—the same shade that has haunted his dreams and stained his skin since they locked eyes seven years ago and nebulas collapsed to make space for more stars. 

His breath flees as memory floods him, icy and overwhelming. He’s caught in a river of realization and it drags him along, powerless against the current. He remembers. _He remembers._

The day they met blooms before his eyes in perfect, terrifying clarity. 

_Clarke’s broken sobs bounce around Bellamy’s skull. He sees her, blonde hair dark and dripping with river water. Wet fabric clings to her skin._

_There are dead eyes in the boy lying motionless on riverbank beside her._

_Dark red blood stains Clarke’s lips as she turns her face up to the sky and moves her mouth in what must be soundless prayer. Her bright blue eyes find his and the last thing Bellamy sees is the dead boy’s chest rise before the memory fades to black._

He can’t catch his breath. Bellamy’s heart pounds in his chest and his forehead is slick with sweat. 

He remembers. He remembers everything. 

And he knows that it was all real. Every detail. From the unnatural blue of Clarke’s eyes to the dead boy lying on the ground beside her—a dead boy Bellamy’s met and spoken to almost every day for months. Wells.

He’s still lost in cloudy thought, when Clarke’s voice pierces him through the fog.

“Bellamy…” she whispers—like she’s afraid of her own voice—like she’s afraid of him.

Unshed tears mix with fear in her eyes. Bellamy realizes his hands have fallen from her face and are now clenched in fists at his sides. 

There are miles of questions between them.

“The day we met, Wells…” He doesn’t even know how to finish his question.

Clarke looks ready to cut and run, but she keeps her gaze fixed on his, even as her voice wavers.

“He drowned. In the river.”

A tear slides down her cheek, but she continues, “The water was high from a rainstorm and Wells slipped on a rock and fell in. He got dragged under by the current,” Clarke takes a deep breath, “When I pulled him out, it was already too late,” her voice quakes, “He was gone.”

She looks down and twists her fingers in her lap, “But it was Wells. He’s my brother and my best friend. I would do anything for him. So I used my magic to save him.”

Bellamy’s already shaking his head, unable to make sense of the words her mouth is forming, when Clarke looks up. Her eyes flash fluorescent blue then return to July skies.

“I’m a witch.”

Bellamy thinks of the past few weeks—about the hours he spent pouring over pages dripping with charcoal and listening to Clarke rattle off folktales about magic and its costs. 

She’d been telling him this whole time; he just hadn’t heard what she was saying. 

_I’m a witch._

Words evade him. They slip through his fingers like water.

Clarke keeps talking, words hurried as they stumble off her tongue, chased by nerves. She moves her hands to clutch the counter, white knuckled, nails digging into the wood. 

“The kind of magic I used to bring Wells back is forbidden. There are punishments for witches who break nature’s laws. My mother thought the only way to make sure no one found out about what I had done was for us to leave. She said it was the only way to keep me and Wells safe. I wanted to go back, I wanted to find you, but I was fifteen and scared and I didn’t even know your name. I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

Bellamy thinks of the moments he must have missed these past few weeks—Clarke’s fear, her loneliness, her worry. She wasn’t just risking herself in sharing this secret, she was risking Wells too.

He understands, now.

Clarke may be a witch, but she’s still the girl he knows. Fiercely protective and strong in a way you can’t see, but you feel.

She’s a storm, sweeping and destructive, but she’s also warm smiles and coffee-stained pages. She can piece him together and tear him apart. 

He realizes now that he’s been lying to himself for weeks. He was kidding himself if he thought he could ever be anything but serious about her. He lives for her laughs. He wants to be the reason for her smiles. He loses his thoughts when he’s around her. He gets caught on the way she bites her lip and how her brow puckers when she forgets herself in a story. 

He didn’t know she was his soulmate, but the knowledge is like finding a new home only to realize he’s already been living there. 

Clarke makes him feel like he’s built for more than bitter endings. Clarke feels like a beginning.

The stars on her skin almost twinkle as she drums her fingers in an anxious beat against her thigh. Every line of her mouth is tense, anxious energy suffocates her movement. 

Bellamy catches her fingers before they fall against her leg and steps into her gravity. 

He gazes at the summer sky in her eyes and brushes his thumb across the night’s stars on her skin. 

And, in as many ways as he can, he tells her he understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATE: After this chapter, I will be continuing this 'verse into a plotted story. Thank you to all the people who commented letting me know they'd like to see where this story goes! You're the best. <3 **
> 
>  
> 
> As always, don't forget to click the kudos button and leave a comment telling me what you thought! (Comments are the actual best.)


	11. clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There may be stars in her eyes, but the universe is in his smile._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter to let me know they wanted to see more of this story! It means a lot, you guys are a big part of the reason I'm continuing with this universe. 
> 
> I hope you like the new chapter <3

Bellamy breathes understanding into her lungs. His lips trail confession across her skin. His warmth fills her cracks and for the first time in six years, Clarke feels whole.

His smile is a slice of the moon—the brightest shard of the night sky shines in the mouth of a boy in a dark room. 

Clarke wants to taste silver moondust on Bellamy’s lips. She wants to explore the galaxies between his teeth and get lost in the cosmos hidden in his dark brown eyes. 

When Bellamy kisses her, Clarke’s eyes fall shut. She loses herself in his touch. His heart beats beneath her fingertips and his breath brushes against her wet mouth. 

His hands are careful and his lips are soft. He’s cautious like he’s trying to figure out how to touch her—like somehow the knowledge that his soul is stitched into her skin has changed something essential between them. 

But whether or not their fate has been written in the stars in the sky or the stars on their skin, Clarke knows that they found their way to each other on their own. 

She chose him and she’d choose him in a thousand lifetimes, in a thousand different worlds. She’d choose the boy whose heart spills from his eyes and who holds his favorite book like it’s made of gold. 

Neither fate nor stars nor time could change her choice. Because it wasn’t the stars on her knuckles that told Clarke that her heart fit with his, it was her soul when it found its place beside his own. 

_Oh, it’s you, I’ve been waiting for you._

She built her home in his heart without even knowing.

She doesn’t know to tell him yet. But, someday, Clarke will find the words to express the feeling that’s been building in her chest since Bellamy looked over at her and smiled. 

For now, she settles for tugging his bottom lip between her teeth and sliding her fingers into his hair. She kisses him with slow and aching heat until he sighs, lets himself go, and deepens the kiss with the slide of his tongue across her lips.

Clarke loses her breath to taste his smile, Bellamy loses his laugh to bite her chin. 

She tumbles through the night sky and lands among the stars. Bellamy’s a boy cast from nitrogen, with stars on his elbow and constellations painted in the freckles of his skin. He’s as grand as any night sky and as boundless as the universe itself. 

He pulls away, breathing heavily, words on the tip of his tongue. But the words don’t fall and Clarke opens her eyes to ask why when her own question dies on her lips. 

Bright stars, all the constellations of the milky way, sit around the room. Nebulas and the night sky have been brought inside the coffee shop—a miracle in the middle of metropolis.

 

Bellamy’s gaze sparkles—awe and light refracted in his eyes. They both forget the words waiting on their tongues.

Bellamy smiles and Clarke can’t tear her eyes away. His excitement is electric—sparks dance in his eyes. 

“You’re doing this?” he asks, breathless with wonder.

There may be stars in her eyes, but the universe is in his smile. 

The fingers of her left hand curl around his elbow. Their soul marks shine blue and bright—a cluster of stars that begins on her knuckles and ends on his skin. 

Magic spins in her belly and blossoms beneath her skin. She can feel it along every nerve, it warms her hands and illuminates the shop with celestial light. 

“We are,” she says, knowing without a doubt the words are true. They’re doing this. Together.

He laughs and her heart skips at the way boyish joy softens his face. 

She pulls him down into a kiss and neither one of them notices the stars fade when Clarke’s hand slips from Bellamy’s elbow. 

Neither one of them notices and neither one of them cares. They’re both too busy mapping new constellations on one another’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this chapter had no plot purposes, but I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway! The idea for this scene got stuck in my head and I couldn't help but write it. Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to see more chapters like this.
> 
> Right now, I'm planning to keep the chapters short and continue alternating POVs--which means more frequent updates! Woohoo!
> 
> Also, from now on, I'm only going to be posting new chapters on AO3, so don't forget to **subscribe** to the story if you want to get email updates!
> 
> As always, **comments and kudos** are what keep me going so leave me a note if you liked this installment  <3


	12. bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He never thought he’d get a happy ending. But then again, this doesn’t feel like a happy ending, this feels like a happy start._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I'm hoping to keep updating often, but if you're excited about the story and want to see more, leave me a comment! Comments are the ultimate motivator.
> 
> (Also, a reminder that now I'm exclusively posting this story on ao3, so if you want to be notified when I update please subscribe!)

_A dark hallway. Dust gathers along the sides and spider webs line the ceiling. The floorboards groan beneath his feet._

_Night and shadows threaten to swallow him. But the gold outline of a door at the end of the hallway beckons. He needs to see what’s inside._

_He tries to move forward, but it feels like he’s pushing through mud. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead. The closer he gets the harder it is to move. But he needs to get to the door. He doesn’t know why but he knows it’s important._

_His hand closes around the knob, the metal so cold it burns. He doesn’t let go. He turns the knob and enters the room to find—_

He wakes with cries echoing in his mind, the dream already slipping into oblivion. It fades to black like a reverse polaroid. Gone in an instant.

It’s then that he notices the warmth at his side and the soft fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead. He turns his head. 

The blue in Clarke’s eyes feels like peace.

“You okay? You cried out in your sleep,” she says softly.

It takes Bellamy a moment to find his voice. 

He clears his throat, “Yeah, just a bad dream.”

Clarke’s frown doesn’t ease; neither does the worry in her eyes.

“What did you see?”

He rubs his thumb against the crease in her brow.

“Clarke, it’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about. It was just a nightmare.”

She looks at him for a long moment.

“Sometimes nightmares are more than just bad dreams,” she says.

He leans up and catches her lips, kissing her until she softens. When she sighs he turns them so her head meets the pillow, the gold sunshine of her hair spilling across rumpled sheets.

He drags his lips across her jaw and presses a kiss to her pulse point.

“I’m okay, really.”

She nods and drags him back into a kiss. He settles between her legs, his hands finding the bare skin beneath her t-shirt and skimming the lacy edge of her underwear.

Eventually, they part, pink-lipped and glassy-eyed. Layers of fabric still separating them. It’s amazing how he can get lost in just her kiss. How it sends sparks down his spine.

White light spills into the room, bright and unflinching, reminding them of morning and responsibilities. 

Bellamy wraps an arm around Clarke’s waist, not ready to face the world yet. His hand settles on her naked ribcage where her shirt has ridden up, he tucks his face into her shoulder, his lips barely brushing the soft skin of her collarbone. 

Clarke shivers and cards her fingers through his hair. Her thumb and forefinger tug his earlobe.

“Bell?”

He turns his head to look at her. Beneath his cheek, her heart dances in her chest. Fast, nervous beats.

“Yeah?” he asks, carefully. 

It still feels like any moment his bubble is going to burst—like any moment he’s going to wake up to find that every moment with Clarke was a dream. His life feels too good to be true. He never thought he’d get a happy ending. But then again, this doesn’t feel like a happy ending, this feels like a happy start.

“I want to give you something.”

His nerves ease and he smiles, he can’t help it.

“Clarke, something you should know about me: I never turn down a present.”

A smile starts in the corner of her mouth, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

She gets out of bed, looking unfairly beautiful with her messy curls and ratty Ramones tee that must be on its last days. He sits up to watch as she goes to her closet. She pulls an oak box about the same size and shape of a shoe box down from the shelf. 

She settles back on the bed, her nervous fingers tapping out offbeat rhythms on the wood.

She bites her lip and looks at him, he tapers his smile at the serious look in her eyes.

“There’s a tradition among those who practice magic,” she swallows, “for witches to give their lover a token.”

Clarke looks down, “I know, it’s ridiculous but—” 

He muffles her worry with a kiss. 

“No, it’s not ridiculous, Clarke. Not at all.”

She opens the box and pulls out a thick, metal ring. She takes his hand and turns it so his palm is facing up. Then she sets the ring in the center of his palm. When he starts to close his fingers around the metal, she stops him.

“Wait,” she whispers, “Close your eyes.”

He waits a beat before he complies, his eyes falling shut. 

“Do you feel it?”

He does, the ring is buzzing like a livewire, subtle enough that he didn’t notice it until Clarke asked. He opens his eyes, amazed.

Clarke answers the question in his gaze.

“Some objects are imbued with power; the reason why isn’t always clear. Sometimes it’s just coincidence, other times it’s because the of who the item belonged to or where it came from. Objects with magic can be used to conduct heavier spells. Many witches use them to make protection charms because they hold on to magic longer.”

She plucks the ring out of his palm and the buzzing stops.

She crosses her legs on the bed and flips open the wooden box. Inside are jars and dried flowers, he recognizes a few from the shop.

“You keep your witch supplies in your closet?” he asks, unable to help himself.

She quirks an eyebrow, mouth tilting in a wry grin, “Where else would I keep them?”

She pulls a few things out and sets them on the bed between them. A bottle filled with clear purple-tinted liquid mixed with dried petals. A jar of dirt. And a silver thimble.

Bellamy watches with open curiosity as Clarke sprinkles dirt into her left hand. She places the ring on top. 

When she opens the bottle, Bellamy recognizes the scent of lavender and remembers how Clarke told him it was used to bring luck. She pours the lavender oil into the center of the ring. 

Lastly, she picks up the thimble and slides it over the end of the pointer finger on her left hand. When she pulls it away, there’s a red spot of blood. 

Clarke watches his reaction closely, but all he feels is genuine curiosity and amazement. He nods for her to go on and she smiles before closing her right hand over her left, trapping the ring, dirt, and blood between her fingers. 

Her lips begin to form silent words in a quick and practiced pace. 

It reminds Bellamy of when he was five, his grandmother was still alive, and she used to drag him to church every Sunday. It reminds him of prayer.

Abruptly, Clarke twists her wrists as her eyes flash bright blue. 

Blood starts to dribble from her nose and Bellamy panics, reaching for her. 

When his skin meets hers, his stomach lurches like he just dropped off a cliff. It only lasts an instant. A moment later, he’s meeting Clarke’s eyes, bewilderment in both their gazes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Clarke shakes her head.

“You don’t have to apologize. I should have warned you. Nose bleeds are a side effect of the magic sometimes. But, Bell, look.”

He follows her gaze to her hands, the dirt, blood and oil have vanished. In her palm lay two rings—the heavy metal split in two. 

When he looks up, Clarke’s smiling. He brushes away the drop of blood lingering beneath her nose and smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, **kudos and comments** are the best way to let me know if you're enjoying the story. You can also find me on tumblr [here](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat <3


	13. clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s tired to the bone, but a satisfied kind of ache settles behind her eyes. _Hushed voices, whispered kisses, and the first light of morning._ Some days really do feel like the beginning of the rest of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm hoping to be better about posting quick updates with this story. Lately, it's been hard with school work and other things piling up. 
> 
> So, if you're excited about this story, let me know!! Leave a comment! Getting a response makes a big difference when it comes to inspiration.

Clarke stumbles to work, spinning the silver ring on her right hand, exhausted but lighter than she can remember feeling in a long time. 

There’s a sun in her chest, bright beyond belief. Because this morning, Clarke kissed dawn on Bellamy’s jaw. She traced orange-pink daybreak across his skin. She trailed naked fingers across naked skin, all her secrets out where he could see.

Her lips are chapped and her voice is raw—evidence of her night spent in a tangle of words and the press of lips. 

Last night, after she told him everything, they spent hours learning and re-learning each other—finding all the new parts of each other now laid bare. Hope caught between teeth. Magic beneath fingernails. 

She’s tired to the bone, but a satisfied kind of ache settles behind her eyes. _Hushed voices, whispered kisses, and the first light of morning_. Some days really do feel like the beginning of the rest of your life.

She finds the front door of the shop unlocked, so she’s not surprised when she sees Anya behind the counter preparing a brew. By now, Clarke’s gotten used to her boss stopping in without warning. 

Anya catches sight of Clarke. Amusement dances in her eyes. 

“Someone had a good night.”

Clarke tries to swallow her smile. She fails.

“I did.”

Anya’s lips purse, her face folds into a frown.

“I’m glad you’re happy, but you’ll need to be more discreet if any customers come in.”

She cocks her head. Anya tends speaks in half-thoughts, but this time, Clarke has no idea what she’s referring to.

“Discreet?” 

The witch looks pointedly at Clarke’s left hand. She follows her gaze.

“Oh.” 

Clarke’s hands are bare. She didn’t put her gloves on this morning. (The first time in seven years.) The soul stars on her left knuckles glint with an unnatural glow. But that’s not what Anya meant. 

Light spills from Clarke’s fingertips—dappled sunlight on the wood floor. 

She makes a fist and the light vanishes. 

Her cheeks flush. (She hadn’t even noticed.)  


* * *

  
Clarke spends the rest of the day catching her magic as it tries to run away from her. She’s spent years learning to control her magic, one of the first things she learned was how to keep it locked and hidden away. But today, she can barely manage to keep it under control. Her magic wants to burst from her seams. 

She nearly blows it that afternoon when a girl, no older than sixteen, comes in.

Her skin is pale and her hair is dark. She’s clearly mortal, glancing wide-eyed around the shop, awe obvious in her expression.

She trips when she walks up to the counter, visibly nervous. Clarke smiles kindly when she looks up. The girl returns the gesture, but it’s strained. 

Clarke keeps her voice light, “What can I help you with today?”

The girl’s voice shakes, “I need to disappear.”

There’s a crash as books tumble from a shelf to Clarke’s right. 

The girl startles and looks over. 

_Shit_ , she didn’t mean to do that.

“What was that?” the girl asks.

“Sorry, that must have been the cat.” 

The lie is stiff, but, thankfully, Hecate picks that moment to slink out from behind the shelf, backing up her story. 

Clarke’s shoulders droop with relief. She makes a mental note to get the cat some tuna later.

She turns back to the girl, softening, “You want to disappear?”

The girl holds her gaze for a long beat. Her gaze flickers to the bookshelf and her hands twist in the fabric of her dress. She shakes her head.

“I—I think I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have come here. Sorry for wasting your time.”

She spins towards the door and when she does, her dark hair sways revealing a bright green mark on the back of her neck—a soulmark. 

“Wait—”

But the girl is gone, the bell above the door tinkles as the door slams shut behind her. 

Clarke sinks against the counter, pressing her palm against her forehead. There had been a flash of panic in the girl—a blink of raw fear. Clarke felt it. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes witches can sense the emotions of the people around them. Usually, they need to be touching the person or know them very well. If Clarke felt fear in a stranger with a yard of wood and air between them, the emotion must have been strong. 

It’s an unsettling encounter and it sticks in Clarke’s mind for the rest of the day. She can’t help but worry about the girl. She didn’t even get a name. Her mind spins in circles as she wonders why a sixteen-year-old girl needed so desperately to get gone. To _disappear_.

She’s still replaying the girl’s words as she re-shelves books after closing so she doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her or realize she has company until she a pair of familiar, broad arms circle her waist.

She smiles, turning. Bellamy immediately catches her in a kiss. It’s slow and deep and full of fierce want. Clarke steadies herself with a hand on the bookshelf behind her and kisses him back, eager and warm. 

Minutes disappear as they swap smiles and breath but the moments don’t feel lost, they feel found. Clarke doesn’t miss a single breath Bellamy steals from her lungs. 

The store is dark and empty except for them. The evening shades their surroundings blue and grey as light fades from the sky outside. 

Bellamy’s nose brushes hers when they part.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough—wrecked.

She laughs, equally undone, “Hi.” 

It’s then that Clarke notices the tug on her fingertips and the faint smell of dirt and growth in the air. 

She turns to see what’s caught on her hand and gasps. Vines wind the wooden shelf, twisting spirals from her fingers to the floor. Flowers burst from buds. 

Bellamy’s breath tickles her cheek when he speaks.

“Did you do that?”

Clarke’s heart hammers in her chest. Her throat is thick. She nods. 

(She did. But she didn’t mean to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and a kudos (is it always plural? kudo? kudos?) if you liked the story!!
> 
> You can also come find me on [tumblr](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat or just check out what I post.


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